


Wrecked Upon Your Shores

by ReaperWriter



Series: One of the Wonders [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: First Kisses, Love Declarations, M/M, Pre-Canon, Yusuf Waxes Poetic, canon typical temporary character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:02:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26575699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaperWriter/pseuds/ReaperWriter
Summary: After he learns the man's name is Nicolò, that he is not actually a Frank, that he was a priest before he took the Cross, he learns he is Genoese.That he too grew up on the edge of the sea, almost due North from Yusuf.And in that, Yusuf learns to understand him.Because Nicolò is a quiet man, not given to boisterous conversation simply to fill silence. He speaks when he has cause. And his wit is as sharp and piercing as Yusuf's own sword. But he keeps his own counsel most of the time.His eyes though. They are like the sea. And like any man who grew up near her, Yusuf can read the change of moods in the variety of colors found in those waters.****Yusuf meditates on the way Nicoló's eyes change with his moods. And then learns some new colors and their meanings.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: One of the Wonders [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1934449
Comments: 17
Kudos: 307





	Wrecked Upon Your Shores

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by discussions on The Old Guard Discord about Luca Marinelli's eye color, and my own longing wish to spend more time by the sea.

After. After Jerusalem. After they slaughter each other with longsword and saif, daggers and rocks, and with their bare hands. After Yusuf offers his hand in truce and his enemy, his opposite, this Frankish invading infidel takes it. 

After they walk away from this battle for power in the name of faith, and stumble through half a dozen broken languages until they can cobble together a conversation. 

After he learns the man's name is Nicolò, that he is not actually a Frank, that he was a priest before he took the Cross, he learns he is Genoese. 

That he too grew up on the edge of the sea, almost due North from Yusuf. 

And in that, Yusuf learns to understand him. Because Nicolò is a quiet man, not given to boisterous conversation simply to fill silence. He speaks when he has cause. And his wit is as sharp and piercing as Yusuf's own sword. But he keeps his own counsel most of the time.

His eyes though. They are like the sea. And like any man who grew up near her, Yusuf can read the change of moods in the variety of colors found in those waters. 

In moments of calm reflection, when his mind is at peace, Nicolò is the pale sun washed sea of late afternoon, soft and translucent blue. Of fishermen coming home with their catches. Soft salt breezes. The sea preparing for night and rest. 

In moments of laughter and good cheer, camaraderie and friendship, Nicolò's the glowing light green of waves rushing in to embrace the shore like an old friend. Of light shining and reflecting like palest verdigris off the copper unfold wrecks in the Bay at Alexandria. Of the small fish that darted and played against Yusuf's feet when he was a boy, making him laugh aloud. 

In anger and disappointment, Nicolò's eyes are the flat grey of steel, waters in the calm before a storm, reflecting back the clouds of the storm to come. Ships becalmed and awaiting their fate. The scent of danger, wreck and ruin, in the air. A color rarely directed at Yusuf. Not after those first few months. 

When Nicolò's eyes went the dark grey of a full on tempest, someone was going to die. Those were the eyes that first met Yusuf's in Jerusalem. Frigid, dark and cold with the singular purpose of a storm. Now, he saw it when he fought alongside his friend. When Nicolò raised his sword in defense of others.

And today, when bandits attacked, catching Yusuf unaware as he stepped out of the small river where he'd been bathing before preparing for evening prayers, Yusuf had glimpsed those storm grey eyes for just a moment before he died on a bandit's blade in his heart as Nicolò charged to his defense.

He gasped awake in Nicolò's arms, surrounded by the bodies of the bandits, and looked up into eyes in the only color he'd not been able to place. The rich blue green of waves crashing against rocks, of summer skies and halcyon days and endless summer. 

It was the shade he saw only in moments when he caught Nicolò's unguarded gaze upon him. In quiet nights across the fire or sheltering in the heat of the day at an Oasis. In busy market streets or even busier inns. And every time, Nicolò quickly averted his gaze.

“Nico?” he asked, looking at him. “Are you hurt?”

Nicolò’s harsh laugh startled him. “Me? Yusuf, you died.”

“Many times.”

“That is not funny!” Nicolò closed his eyes, his breathing harsh and labored. “You died, and it took me a lifetime to kill all of these whoreson bastards and you were still dead when I finished!”

Oh. _Oh_. “Nico. I’m sorry.”

“I thought…”

Yusuf raised a hand, cupping the other man’s cheek. He’d been so lost in his eyes, he’d missed the tear tracks. “Did you have to pull the knife free?”

“Yes. And then you still took forever.”

His friend...but no, that wasn’t the word. Nor brother. Because what Yusuf felt for him, for his Nicolò wasn’t in the least bit brotherly, had to sit here, holding his corpse and waiting for him to wake. Poor, poor Nico.

“Please. Look at me.”

When Nicolò’s eyes opened, the color was new, a wine dark blue rich as the evening waves, one that highlighted the tiny golden brown flecks near his pupils like fine gold stars reflected into the night waters. Yusuf swallowed. So many colors like the sea, and he wished only to drown in them.

“I swear to you, Nicolò. As long as you live, I will come back to you.”

Nicolò took a shuddering breath. “You can’t know that.”

“Yes, I can. Because Allah, wise and merciful, brought us into this new life together. He surely means us to be with each other. And I know something more than that.” Yusuf paused, suddenly afraid that his next words would ruin everything. That like an unwise sailor, he’d misread the sea.

“What’s that?” Nicolò ask.

“I know,” Yusuf said, stroking his thumb across Nicolò’s cheek gently and staring into his eyes. “That you are my heart and my home, and I would leave one I love as I love you only when the stars fall to be quenched by the sea.”

Nicolò’s mouth dropped open slightly, gaping. Silence stretched between them, taut as an oud string and Yusuf’s heart cracked. A poor sailor indeed then.

He opened his mouth just a little, ready to make an apology, to swear that he would keep such feelings to himself if Nicolò would only promise to not leave him, please. Anything but that. 

And then suddenly, strong arms raised him up and chapped, dry lips tasting with a hint of salt like tears or the sea pressed into his as his own hand slid into Nicolò’s matted, sweat soaked hair. The kiss moved between them, ebbing and flowing like waves lapping the shore, harsh and then soft, pushing in and then retreating.

When they broke apart, Nicolò pressed his forehead into Yusuf’s. “I thought I alone felt such.”

“No, habibi,” Yusuf said. 

“Caro mio,” Nicolò whispered back. “You are my home. My light. I love you.”

“Until the stars fall.” Yusuf leaned in, and kissed his sea.


End file.
